


The Vivian Johnstone Higginsbottom Affair

by LadyRa



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-05
Updated: 2003-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRa/pseuds/LadyRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone does a little matchmaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vivian Johnstone Higginsbottom Affair

Vivian woke up alone again. She sighed and glanced at the clock. Three thirty in the morning. "Drat that man." She sat up on the side of the bed, playing with her engagement ring.

This wasn't like him. Or at least it hadn't seemed like him; he'd been so much fun. But ever since he'd asked her to marry him and given her the engagement ring, all of four days ago, she'd woken up to an empty bed. 

She knew he'd be downstairs. He had been each of the other three nights. Drinking. It was a dismal start to a happy ever after scenario. Sighing again, she rose, patting down the baby pink chiffon of her peignoir. Padding to the top of the stairs she called down. "Napoleon?"

When there was no answer she went back to her room, slipped on her scandalously expensive slippers which were little more than a few straps, a leather sole, two inch heels, and a large pink satin bow, and tapped her way downstairs. "Napoleon?"

Her townhouse was three levels, and she knew she'd find Napoleon on the first floor. All she had to do was follow the sound of the record player, playing that jazz stuff he seemed to like. Napoleon was lying on the couch, hands behind his head, dressed in his velvet bathrobe. He didn't even notice her.

Piqued, she spoke his name sharply. "Napoleon."

That got his attention. His eyes darted to hers and he sat up. "I’m sorry, Viv, I was thinking."

She frowned. "That's all you seem to be doing lately." She hit him with her sexiest pout. "Come to bed. It's cold in that big old bed without you." She flipped her long auburn hair back over her shoulder. 

He gave her a swift smile. "Go on up. I'll be there in a minute."

She increased the wattage on the pout. "You've said that every night this week." Vivian struck a pose she knew played her figure to its best advantage. "Aren't I more interesting than this old scratchy thing you're listening to?"

She preened as Napoleon's eyes roamed over her. She knew she looked good. She ought to. She spent a lot of time and money to look that way. 

"Much more interesting. You're a stunningly beautiful woman."

She let out a happy sigh at the compliment and followed it with a come hither glance. "Then come to bed."

Napoleon swirled the ice and liquid in his glass. "As soon as I'm done with this. I won't be long."

Vivian frowned. She didn't believe him anymore. The last three mornings he hadn't come back to bed at all and had already left for work by the time she'd gotten up. "Would you at least tell me what it is you're so busy thinking about?"

His smile seemed sad this time, weary. "Just putting some old ghosts to rest, that's all."

She hated inscrutable answers. Letting out a petulant humph she spun around and tapped her way back upstairs.

* * *

She had lunch with Mark Slate later that day at the club. "…and then he doesn't come back to bed. I just don't understand it."

Mark couldn't understand it either. He couldn't understand how any man would choose not to be in bed with Vivian if she was waiting there for him. "Did you ask him what was bothering him?"

"Of course I did." She sniffed in disdain. "Something about old ghosts." Vivian leaned closer to Mark. "Is he an alcoholic?"

Mark furrowed his brow, a bit startled by the question. "No. Not that I'm aware of."

"Is he still in love with someone?"

Mark shook his head. "No. He hasn't been serious about anyone for a long time."

Her expensively manicured nails beat out a tattoo on the table. "It's got to be an old girlfriend." She took a sip of iced tea, gazing down at the remains of her salad. "Don't you think? I mean what else could it be? He must still be in love with someone."

Mark scrunched his face up. "Excuse me, luv, for being so blunt, but aren't these questions you might have discussed with him before you agreed to marry him?"

"How was I supposed to know after the clock struck midnight that he'd turn into a moody drunk?"

Mark frowned. "I'd hardly call him that."

She waved off his defense of Napoleon. "Who was she? Who was his last girlfriend?"

Mark's eyebrows rose. "I have no idea. He went through them like water through a sieve."

"He must have had someone special, someone who broke his heart, someone he's still pining after."

Mark thought about it for a minute. "Sorry, luv. I have no idea. Probably the only person who would know is Illya."

Her lips formed a small pout. Mark loved her pouts. "What is an Illya?"

"Who. Who is an Illya. He was Napoleon's best friend for years. They were like Siamese twins."

"Why don't I know about this best friend of his?" She reached for a cigarette, waiting for Mark to get out his lighter and light it. When he obliged her, she inhaled deeply. "I thought you were his best friend."

"Oh, Napoleon and I are mates, no doubt about that, but he and Illya were something special. They were partners at UNCLE."

Her eyes opened in alarm. "Shhh. Don't say that too loudly. Daddy'd have a stroke if he knew Napoleon had been a spy. He thinks Napoleon's nice and normal." 

Mark rolled his eyes. "I was a spy too, you know."

"Shhh. If you mention it again I swear I'll get up and leave. Besides, now you have a proper job running your family's business, now that they've opened offices here in New York." 

Mark lifted his hands in supplication. "All right, I'll behave." 

She settled back in her chair. "That's better."

Mark considered her for a minute. "Why, exactly, are you marrying Napoleon?"

Vivian pursed her lips, and let out a dramatic sigh. "It's been such a whirlwind romance. He's quite turned my head."

"That doesn't necessarily mean you should marry him." Mark didn't want her to marry Napoleon. Mark wanted her to marry him. He'd wanted her to marry him from the moment he met her. The fact that he'd been so close to achieving it made it even worse, even if it was all Vivian's fault that it had fallen apart.

He never should have invited Napoleon to Vivian's twenty-fourth birthday party. Granted, he and Vivian were barely speaking at the time, but he should have known better. No one could resist Napoleon. The only good thing that had come out of it was that at least she'd started talking to him again after she began dating Napoleon. 

"Oh, but darling, he's so handsome, and already well-off, and Daddy's lawyers say that computers are the wave of the future, and that Napoleon's sure to make an obscene fortune."

"So you're marrying him for his money?"

She let out a peal of laughter. "Mark, you sound so peeved about it. Of course I'm marrying him for his money. And the fact that he's good to look at, is entertaining company, knows all the right people, and is sinfully talented in bed."

Mark shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He really didn't want to know all this.

She laughed again and patted his leg. "Don't fret, darling. You were too."

That made him feel a bit better. Not much, but a bit.

"So, tell me about this Illya fellow. Maybe I should get in touch with him and ask him about Napoleon's past."

Mark snorted out a laugh. "Good luck getting any information out of him. He's like the proverbial clam."

"And they were best friends?"

Mark could see the puzzled look on her face and understood it. Why had Napoleon, the original Lothario, loquacious to a fault, befriended the surly, taciturn Russian? It had been a mystery from the get go to everyone who knew them. Mark had come to understand as he'd gotten to know Illya better. Still waters and all that. "The best of friends. They spent most of their free time together, went out on double dates. Where one was, the other was close behind."

"So if anyone would know who Napoleon is pining for, it would be he?"

"What does it matter? He proposed to you. It's you he's in love with."

Vivian let out another laugh. "Oh, darling, you are so provincial. He's not in love with me. I amuse him, and I'm a good match. Trust me, they make the best marriages."

Mark frowned at her. "Do you really believe that?" Something flickered in her eyes, some sadness, or fear, but then it was gone. She chose not to answer, taking another sip of tea.

He prodded a little harder. "What does it matter? If this isn't a love match, why do you care?"

"Because she's competition, Mark. Suppose she's prettier than me, or richer than me?" She let out a gasp. "Or some commoner. I may not mind marrying a man who's not in love with me but I'll be damned if I'll marry a man pining over some floozy. If Constance heard about it, I'd never live it down."

Mark started to laugh. God, he loved her. Despite her snobbery, and selfish ways, he absolutely adored her. "Well, I never saw either of them seriously involved with anyone. And it wasn't for lack of trying on the ladies' part. They flocked around both of them like white on rice. Made a man feel inferior to hang around those chaps."

Vivian patted his arm. "Now, I don't believe that for a minute, darling. I'm sure you had your share, too. After all I was quite mad about you." She gave him a naughty grin. "And you've got all that lovely family money. You and Napoleon were the only two men I've ever brought home that Daddy liked."

Mark sighed. "So why aren't you still? Mad about me, I mean."

She gave him a scathing stare. "I believe her name was April."

Mark gave her an exasperated glare. "Viv, how many times do I have to tell you? She's just a friend."

"Right. And that's why you left me, alone, at my parent's 40th wedding anniversary. I was a laughingstock."

He rolled his eyes. "You weren't a laughingstock. And if you were, it was your own damn fault. All you had to tell them was the truth, that I had a family emergency to attend to."

She let out a dainty snort. "A family emergency. With an old girlfriend?"

"She is not an old girlfriend. She's like my sister. We were close like Illya and Napoleon were close. And she needed my help."

"Well, I needed your help too."

He barked out a frustrated laugh. "To help cut cake? She was in danger. I told you that. One of…"

She put her fingers over his lips. "Don't you dare tell me a spy story."

Mark fought the temptation to suck on one of those fingers. "She's a friend. I wish you'd believe me."

She took a long time to take her fingers away. Their eyes caught and held until the sun chose that moment to reflect off the sizeable diamond in her engagement ring. Vivian sat back, fingering the ring. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?"

Mark looked at the ring and scowled. He was good and stuck. Napoleon was his mate and the last thing he could do is to try to steal her away. But if they didn't love each other, what the hell were they doing? He sipped morosely at his tea, pushing his French fries around on his plate. He'd lost his appetite.

"So, Mark, be a love, tell me how to contact this Illya person."

Mark shook his head. "No."

Her eyes opened wide in disbelief. "No?"

"No."

"Why?" Her pout was back.

"Because he'd kill me."

Vivian let out a short laugh. "Oh, please. Don't be so melodramatic."

Mark laughed at her in return. "I'm not."

She frowned. "Why aren't he and Napoleon friends anymore?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't know. Neither of them has told me anything. I keep in touch with them both, but I learned pretty fast not to bring up the subject."

Vivian put her hand on his thigh. "Come on, Mark. Give me his number."

"The answer is no. And it doesn't matter anyway. He won't talk to you."

Vivian looked down her nose at him. "He'll talk to me."

Mark shook his head again. "Sorry, luv. No can do." He looked at his watch. "I have to go in a minute." Mark glanced around the restaurant. "Our waiter seems to have disappeared. I'll go track him down." He got up and headed off.

She nodded absently and let him go. As soon as he was out of sight she started digging through his jacket pockets, looking for his little black book. When she found it she began to feverishly turn the pages, looking for an Illya. "Illya, Illya…" She let out a gasp of pleasant discovery. "Illya Kuryakin. Private line." Committing the number to memory, she slid the book back in Mark's pocket.

* * *

"Kuryakin."

"Oh! Is this Illya Kuryakin?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm Vivian Johnstone Higginsbottom." She waited for him to recognize the name.

"Who gave you this number?"

She frowned at the phone. And lied. "Mark Slate."

"What do you want?"

She frowned at the phone again. What an unpleasant man. This was Napoleon's best friend? Inconceivable. "I'm Napoleon Solo's fiancée." She waited a few moments but there was no response. "Hello? Did you hear me?"

Finally he spoke, his voice tight. She thought it sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. "While I hate to be repetitive, what do you want?"

This wasn't going well. She tried to be charming. "I just want to talk about Napoleon, about his past, get to know him a little better."

A snort came over the phone. "Then I suggest you talk to your fiancé."

She could tell he was about to hang up. "No, wait, Mr. Kuryakin. I need to talk to you."

"Why?"

This was embarrassing. Even though he couldn't see her, she sat up more stiffly in her chair, squaring her shoulders. She just had to know. "He's been depressed lately, he keeps drinking and talking about putting old ghosts to rest and I want to know what he's talking about."

"Perhaps you should ask him."

"I have. He won't talk to me."

"Then he obviously doesn't want you to know."

Vivian sighed. "But I need to know. I need to know who she is."

There was a long silence. "I don't know what you mean."

"This long lost love of his. I mean it has to be an old girlfriend. It has to be. What else would make a man drink like that, and get all melancholy? I have to know what I’m up against."

"I’m sorry, Miss…"

"Miss Johnstone Higginsbottom." She was aggrieved he couldn't remember her name.

"Of course, Miss Johnstone Higginsbottom, how unforgivable of me to forget. But, I have no intention of talking to you about anything. Please don't call again."

"Wait! Wait! Don't go. Maybe you could come see him. You used to be his best friend. Maybe you could talk to him and snap him out of it."

The silence was even longer. "I do not believe that would be a good idea. Good bye."

The phone went dead and she stared at it in disbelief. No one hung up on a Johnstone Higginsbottom. No one. She dialed the number again and after she lost count of how many times the phone rang, she slammed the receiver down in frustration.

* * *

The next day, she met Mark for lunch again. "Oh, he's an obnoxious man. Whatever did you and Napoleon see in him?"

"Well, seeing as he's probably never going to talk to me again, it doesn't really matter."

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"The number, Viv. How did you get it? And why did you tell him I gave it to you?" Illya had called him and blistered his ear.

She shrugged. "Out of your little black book. And I thought it would make him talk to me." She sniffed. "I can't say I think much of him."

Mark let out a long sigh. "You are a selfish bitch, you know that don't you?"

Vivian laughed. "Of course I am, darling, but you love me anyway, don't you?"

The curse of it was that he did. "Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he changes his number now. And doesn't give me the new one."

Vivian waved a hand in his direction. "Oh, tell him I won't call again. Who'd want to talk to such a disagreeable man?"

Mark grinned at her. 

She grinned back and then leaned toward him. "Where does he live?"

Mark shot her an incredulous look. "Are you out of your mind? He really would kill me then."

"Oh, come on, Mark. I have to talk to him. He wouldn't dare be so rude face-to-face."

Mark barked out a laugh. "He'd be rude to the pope face-to-face if it suited him."

Her hand went back on his thigh. "Now, Mark, you know I still have a key to your apartment. You're not really going to make me break in and search for his address, are you?" She squeezed his thigh. "Are you?"

He had no willpower when it came to her. And Illya was already mad at him, so he might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. "He's Vanya."

He could see it didn't compute. She let out a long sigh. "Vanya. I would just die to have one of his wedding dresses. They are absolutely divine."

"I’m sure you could well afford one. Call him." Mark kept the grin off his face.

"Oh, I've tried. He isn't accepting any new business. I even had one of daddy's attorneys call him."

Mark couldn't stop the laugh that generated. He could imagine how Illya had felt about that.

She scowled at him. "It's no laughing matter. I'd be the hit of New York with a Vanya wedding dress." She retrieved a piece of paper and a pen from her slim purse. "So, he works at Vanya's? What department?"

"Viv, he is Vanya."

It took a moment to sink in. She let out a gasp. "Illya Kuryakin is Vanya? The Vanya? Napoleon's ex-best friend is Vanya? Your friend is Vanya? And you never introduced me? I shall never forgive you."

"I thought he was an obnoxious man."

"Vanya is famous for his temper." A hand fluttered to her breast. "Just think, he yelled at me. Vanya." She let out a little sigh.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you making this all up?"

Mark shook his head. "I swear it on my grandmother's grave."

She kept her narrow-eyed gaze on him for a minute. Then they widened. "He's a homosexual."

Mark almost spit out his drink. "Excuse me?"

"Vanya. He's a homosexual."

"Illya?" Mark made a disparaging noise with his lips. "Hardly."

"Mark, have you never watched him? The way he moves? He's like a jungle cat. Not to mention the company he keeps, who trust me, are other homosexuals. He's in fashion design, for heaven's sakes. Of course he's a homosexual."

"He is not a homosexual. I'd know."

"How would you know?"

"Because I've seen him with women."

"Oh, Mark. A ménage-a-trois? How common of you."

Mark could feel his face heat with a blush. "No, not a…Vivian. I've known him for years. He couldn't be."

She patted him on the arm. "Don't worry. It's quite fashionable these days." She gave Mark a look. "Would it bother you all that much?"

Mark thought about it. He supposed he wouldn't care if Illya turned out to be an Egyptian belly dancer. It didn't make him any different from what he was. A good friend and someone you could trust at your back. He winced a little at the unintended double entendre. This might take some getting used to, assuming it was true. And where did that leave Napoleon?

Obviously Vivian was working along the same lines. "Oh, my God. Napoleon."

Mark grinned at her. "Surely you're not going to tell me he's a homosexual."

She gave him a saucy wink. "Absolutely not. But that must be why they're not talking anymore. Illya must have made a pass at Napoleon."

Mark was taking another sip and coughed as it went down the wrong way. "What?"

"It makes perfect sense. Illya decides he can no longer lie to his best friend, perhaps he's been in love with Napoleon for years, he risks it all and makes a pass at the man he loves, and is cruelly rejected."

"I remember someone telling me yesterday I was being melodramatic."

"Yes, well, perhaps it does smack of a Greek tragedy but it makes sense. And now he lives a lonely life, living in solitude in his lonely apartment."

Mark gave her a mocking smile. "Surrounded by his millions and his adoring fans."

She smirked and let out a laugh. "That does make it a bit less tragic, doesn't it?" Vivian gave him one of her looks that told him he was in for trouble. "You absolutely have to introduce me to him."

"Forget it."

"Mark, you have to."

"Why do you have to meet him? Wasn't an unpleasant phone call enough punishment for you?"

"I still need to find out who Napoleon is pining for." Her chin stuck out stubbornly. "And I want a Vanya wedding dress."

"Viv, if your little fantasy is true, did you ever think that if he did love Napoleon that you're probably the last person he'd want to make a wedding dress for?"

Her jaw dropped. "Damn." She sat back in her chair, momentarily stymied. 

* * *

Vivian ran her fingers lightly over his chest. "Napoleon."

"Hmm?"

"Will you do me a favor?" She purred as his hand made gentle circles on her back.

"Whatever you want, dearest."

"Will you call your friend Vanya, and ask him to design my wedding dress?" 

His hand stilled. "What?"

"Vanya. You know, your friend, Illya Kuryakin." She placed a kiss on the cleft on his chin. "I'm quite annoyed you didn't tell me you knew the man. You know I've been trying to get him to see me."

Napoleon pulled away from her and sat up, pulling the sheets to his waist. "What makes you think Illya is Vanya?"

"Mark told me." She tried to ignore the flash of anger in his eyes. "Oh, don't blame him. I badgered him mercilessly."

"I'm sure you did." He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. He tried again. "Why…how did this all come about exactly?"

She ran her hand down his thigh.

He grabbed her hand, and held it still on the bed. "Vivian."

Vivian pouted. "Well, I've been worried about you. All the drinking, and your moods. And then your comment the other night about putting ghosts to rest, I thought that it had to be an old girlfriend."

She didn't miss the sad crooked grin that crossed his face. He prompted her. "And…?"

"So I talked to Mark about it, trying to find out about this long lost love of yours. I needed to know how serious it was."

"And…?"

"And Mark had no idea but he thought Illya would. So I sneaked a peak in Mark's little black book and found Illya's number and called him."

Napoleon's eyes widened. "You talked to Illya?"

She nodded. "I thought he was a most unpleasant man until I found out he was Vanya."

This time the grin was mocking. "So, as long as he's rich and famous, it's all right for him to be rude to you?"

She grinned back at him. "Of course, darling. You should know that."

"Hmm." He cleared his throat. "So, did Illya shed any light on the subject?"

Vivian scowled. "No. He was exceedingly unhelpful. But I think I know why you two aren't friends any more, and I completely understand your point of view."

"Ah." He glanced away and then back. "Well, I suspect that you don’t understand, but I thank you for your support."

"Don't you even want to know why I think you aren't friends anymore?"

"No, not really. I think we've talked about the subject long enough." He leaned in for a kiss.

She leaned away from it. "Don't you think enough time has gone by that you could call him and ask him to see me, for old time's sakes?"

He shook his head. "No."

Vivian pouted. "Napoleon."

"No."

She smacked the pillow by her side. "You're being very unreasonable."

His voice was laced with a warning. "Vivian. This subject's closed."

As far as she was concerned the subject wouldn't be closed until she got her dress. "Pretty please? I'll make it worth your while."

His eyes grew angry. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Vivian flounced back on the bed. "Come on, Napoleon. How bad could it have been? So he made a pass at you. Time to get over it and move on."

Napoleon started to cough.

She sat up and pounded him on his back. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, still coughing. He choked out a few words, "Fine, just breathed wrong."

Vivian frowned at him. This whole thing was so unlike him. First his drinking, then his unwillingness to talk about whatever these ghosts of his were, and now his unwillingness to talk about Illya. Her brain worked furiously connecting the dots. Then her jaw dropped.

Napoleon sighed and dropped his face into his hands.

She had to know. "Did he make a pass at you?"

Napoleon lifted his head, his eyes filled with the sadness she had seen there the other night. "You don't want to ask me these questions."

"Yes, I do. Did he make a pass at you?"

Napoleon got out of bed, and pulled on a pair of silk paisley boxers. "Not exactly."

"Did you make a pass at him?"

He let out a sad half-laugh. "Not exactly." He stepped into a pair of sweats.

"Is he a homosexual?" 

Napoleon reached for a T-shirt. "Not exactly."

She frowned at him. "Are you?"

He glanced at her naked body. "An interesting question for you to be asking me considering what we've just finished doing."

She threw a pillow at him. "Tell me what happened, Napoleon."

Napoleon stood by the edge of the bed and looked down at her, his jaw set in angry determination. "You want to know? Fine. We were lovers. For two years. He was the only man I ever slept with, and up until that point, I was the only man he ever slept with."

Vivian stared at him and blinked. She hadn't expected him to tell her the truth, at least not so blatantly. She did a little internal poking and discovered that she wasn't that upset. She wasn't upset at all. She poked herself again not understanding why she wasn't upset. She should be upset. 

But for some reason, Napoleon suddenly seemed like a younger brother in need of sisterly council. It was the oddest feeling. She wrapped the sheet around her and patted the bed. "Sit." At his look she grinned. "Don't worry, I won't bite."

He sat gingerly on the bed. "You're not upset about this?"

She shook her head. "I know it's strange, but I'm really not." She pulled off his ring and tried to hand it to him. "I'm not going to marry you though. Do you mind?"

He snorted out a laugh. "Not really." He closed her fingers around the ring. "Keep it. Take it to your jeweler and make a necklace out of it or something."

She reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "So, tell me all about it."

He rolled his eyes. "Vivian, I'm not going to tell you all about it."

She blushed. "I didn’t mean that part of it. I mean, why you two aren't together anymore. What happened?"

Napoleon sighed, and then as if it were something he'd needed to talk about for the longest time, he told her the story. "The affair started while we were at UNCLE. And even though we were discreet, people started to talk. Somehow, despite our care, the feelings we had for each other came through. We weren't in a business that would forgive a transgression like that. It would get used against us, by both our enemies and our allies."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of that."

"I suppose I am. Lord knows I've repeated it to myself a hundred thousand times trying to make myself believe it. You'd think after all this time…" Napoleon blew out a long breath.

"Did you break it off?"

Napoleon shook his head. "He did. I wanted to keep seeing him. I was willing to pay the price, but he wasn't. I don't mean that he cared about himself, he never did, but he cared about me. About my chances for promotion, the possibility that he could be used against me. He walked in my office, handed in his resignation, and I didn't see or hear from him for two years. Then he suddenly reappears in New York as Vanya."

"Did you try to see him?" She laced her fingers through his, saddened for him, by the still raw pain in his voice.

He ran his other hand through his hair. "A dozen times. I never got past the front security guard." He gave her a tight smile. "I finally gave up." 

She wished she had Vanya in front of her right now so she could kick him in the shins. How dare he reject Napoleon? Of course, after she kicked him, she'd ask him to design a dress for her. Or maybe she wouldn't. She wasn't sure she wanted to wear one of his dresses now. "I'm sorry."

Napoleon shrugged and gave her a smile. "Thank you. And thank you for taking this so well."

"Well, Mark's been haranguing me for marrying you for your money. Perhaps his constant bleating has finally sunk in."

Napoleon laughed. "You should probably marry him."

Vivian was surprised that her heart skipped a beat. "No, he made it clear that he has other priorities."

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes narrowed. "That April woman."

Napoleon cocked his head to the side as he considered her. "What about April?"

She tossed the words out, as if they were of little concern. "He loves her. Like you love Illya."

Napoleon's eyes widened. "No he doesn't."

Her tone changed from nonchalance to frustration. "He completely abandoned me to go to her when she asked for his help. Why else would he go?"

"Vivian, he went because they're best friends. She'd drop anything to help him out, as would I. It doesn't mean he's in love with her. He never felt that way about her."

Vivian lifted guardedly hopeful eyes to him. "How do you know?"

"Because I know. They're family, nothing more. In fact, April's happily married with two young children and a third on the way."

Vivian's jaw dropped. "Why didn't Mark tell me that?"

Napoleon tapped her on the nose. "I expect it's because you didn't let him."

She scowled. "Well, I'm sure I won't like her."

Napoleon laughed. "You'll love her, and she'll love you. She'll be the best sister you could ever hope for." He laughed again, more softly. "Look at you. Still jealous over an incident that happened over a year ago with Mark, and nary a hair out of place for my enormous peccadillo. I suspect you're still in love with the man."

Vivian sighed.

Napoleon shook his head. "What a pair of fools we are. About to mortgage ourselves into a life long pity party." He chucked her under her chin. "I suggest you allow him to catch you on your rebound."

She gave him a tight smile and then frowned. "What are we going to tell people, Napoleon? Constance will use this to make my life a living hell."

"Constance?"

"You know, Darling, Constance Emily Waldorf. She's the daughter of Daddy's archrival. She thrives on making my life miserable."

Napoleon let out a soft laugh. "Ah, yes, Constance. How could I forget? Feel free to blame it all on me."

"Don't worry, I shall."

Napoleon stood again. "Just try not to humiliate me too much. And do let me know what the story is so I won't give the game away." He let go of her hand. "I think I'll go downstairs to sleep."

"Let me guess, are the jazz records his?"

He nodded. "I know. It's so predictable."

She laughed at him. "Napoleon, if there's one thing you are most definitely not, it's predictable."

He gave her another sad smile and left the bedroom. She lay back on the bed, lost in thought.

* * *

Illya put down his charcoal pencil, and stared out the window. He was designing a wedding dress and it put him in mind of that woman's call. Napoleon was getting married. It still felt like a piercing stab wound. Married.

Not that Illya had any claim on him anymore. He'd lost that the minute he'd dropped his resignation on Napoleon's desk. That had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, but if Napoleon refused to protect himself, then it was Illya's job to do it for him. That's the way it had always worked. It was what made them good partners. At least that's what he kept telling himself.

He had never stopped loving Napoleon. The love was still as fierce and real as it had ever been. Illya kept hoping it would fade, had done everything he could to help it along, but it refused to obey his wishes. It burned brightly within him, leaving him with a constant yearning deep inside.

And now Napoleon was getting married. Illya had thought that maybe Napoleon would try to get in touch with him when he moved back to New York. But the phone call destroyed all hope of that, and his fantasies were lying in a burnt husk. 

It was one of the reasons he'd kept his friendship up with Mark. Not to do the man a disservice; he was a worthy friend, and had proven himself over a dozen times. But, he was also a connection to Napoleon. Surely, if Napoleon wanted to talk to him, he would mention it to Mark, and Mark would have put him in touch.

  
But, it had never happened. Two years he'd been in New York, and he'd never heard a word. And now, Napoleon was getting married, and putting old ghosts to rest. Illya suspected he was the old ghost, or one of them at any rate, and Napoleon had obviously decided that that part of his life was over.

Married. Illya stood and moved to the window, looking down at the city, at the millions of inhabitants who were busy living their lives. And somewhere down there, Napoleon was busy planning his life with the woman he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with.

For the thousandth time, Illya wished he could rewind the clock. For all that he'd thought he was doing the right thing, he saw now that it had been wrong. At least for him. He had been a fool to think that he could walk away, create a new life free of the taste and feel and scent of Napoleon. Because no matter how far he ran, the memory stayed.

A pang of yearning tightened Illya's chest. Right now, he'd give up everything he had, every penny he had, all his success and material goods, if he could just hold Napoleon again.

His phone rang. Crossing the room he picked it up. "Kuryakin."

"It's me again."

Illya stared at the phone, aggravated beyond belief that he recognized her voice, and equally astonished at her effrontery. He decided not to give her the satisfaction. "I believe you have the wrong number."

She let out a noise of frustration. "Ooh, you are an odious man. You know very well who this is."

That got a brief smile out of Illya. There was nothing he hated more than a sycophant, and it was refreshing to be insulted. Then he remembered that this woman was marrying Napoleon. "I told you not to call again. This conversation is over."

She spoke fast before he could hang up. "I'm not calling for me, I'm calling for Napoleon."

"Yes, if I remember correctly, you want my help to get to know your fiancé better."

"He's not my fiancé anymore."

A flare of unreasonable hope sprang up in Illya's heart, which he immediately tried to squelch. "I don't understand."

"Well, I can't exactly marry a man who's desperately in love with someone else, can I?"

Illya's heart started to pound. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. I've broken off the engagement."

Illya sat down, wary. "Why exactly are you calling?"

Vivian heaved a heavy sigh. "I’m calling because, even though you completely shattered his heart, for some reason I absolutely cannot understand he is still in love with you."

Illya was sure this conversation couldn't be good for his heart. It was starting to skip beats now. And for the life of him, he had no idea of what to say.

Vivian kept on talking. "Twelve times he's tried to see you since you've been back in New York. Twelve times. The man has no pride. But could he get to you in your ivory tower? No. You had your people turn him away, time after time. And all I can say about that is that I wouldn’t wear one of your dresses if you paid me."

Illya tried to sit and then realized he was already sitting. His voice came out in a squeak. "He came…" He cleared his throat and tried again. "He came to see me?" A thousand thoughts collided in his brain. Napoleon had come to see him. Napoleon had wanted to see him. He'd come twelve times. Twelve. 

Illya let out a small groan. And twelve times he'd been sent away by his very well paid, and very effective security. Illya had been so sure Napoleon would go through Mark. He felt a surge of frustration at the man. He'd been a spy for years, for heaven's sakes. Why hadn't he broken into his apartment if he'd wanted to talk?

"Yes he came to see you. Although why he did is beyond me. Once or twice, I can understand, maybe even three times. But twelve times? Please. There's no dignity in that. At any rate, you finally got your point across. I hope you're happy."

There was no answer from Illya. "Hello, hello? Is there anyone there?" A few seconds of silence followed. "You better not have hung up on me again." More silence. "And if you did, it better be because you're on your way to see Napoleon." More silence. "Impossible man." She hung up.

Illya was out the door running. He yelled to his startled secretary. "Cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day. Order my car around." Without waiting for a response he slammed through the doorway to the stairs, eschewing his private elevator, and flew down the steps.

* * *

Napoleon's secretary burst into his office. "Napoleon!"

Napoleon stood in response to the excitement in her voice. "What is it, Janelle?"

"You'll never guess who's here to see you."

Napoleon couldn't imagine who she was talking about, but then he saw him.

Janelle giggled. "It's Vanya. Can you believe it? Here, in this office."

Napoleon sank back down into his chair, his legs feeling like jelly.

Illya moved around Janelle. "I'll take it from here, thanks." When Janelle didn't move, Illya turned and ushered her politely out the door, shutting and locking it behind her.

Napoleon stared at Illya, feeling weak all over as if some sedative had been introduced to his system. He couldn't seem to find the energy to speak, and he didn't dare wonder why Illya was here. His heart couldn't take another beating. It may have been four years since Illya walked out of his life, but to him it still felt like yesterday.

Illya stood there drinking in the sight of his old friend, and ex-lover. He knew right then that he couldn't, wouldn't leave this office without getting him back, that the loneliness of his life had passed the limits of his endurance. He took a step toward Napoleon.

Napoleon shot out of his chair and moved to the window, putting more distance between them. If Illya opened his mouth to discuss a business deal, or to warn him about some old nemesis coming round, Napoleon thought he might jump out the window. Suddenly needing to know, not willing to postpone the potential agony for another second, Napoleon turned to Illya. "Why are you here?"

Illya didn't know where to start. Now that he was alone with Napoleon, his brain seemed to have stopped working. How do you apologize for making such a monumental error of judgment four years in the past? How do you explain the misery of the four intervening years, and the longing that kept him awake at night when his heart and body was crying out for the man in front of him? How do you explain what it felt like to think that the only person he'd ever loved was engaged to be married, and then to find out that he wasn't and how that news had woken something up in him that could no longer be denied?

Napoleon watched Illya stand there, his face pale, his fists tightly clenched. He wondered how long they might stand there, only a few yards physically separating them from each other, thousands of miles emotionally between them. A vision of them still standing like this come morning, and what his secretary might say, brought a wan grin to his face. He tried again. "Illya, why are you here?"

Illya glanced up at his words. "I didn't know."

Napoleon shook his head. "Didn't know what?"

"That you came. I didn't know. I thought you hated me. You should hate me."

A bitter laugh left Napoleon's lips. Hate Illya? If only he could. Maybe then he might have been able to move on. But, the love wouldn't die. He was angry, though. And the part of him that demanded retribution wanted Illya to know that. "Why should I hate you? Just because you walked into my office, and told me you were leaving, that we couldn't see each other anymore? Just because you decided you knew what I needed, decided that my job was more important to me than you, than us?"

Napoleon turned toward the window, pulling the sheer drapery back. "I waited for you, sure you'd come back. And when you didn't, I was terrified that something had happened to you. I looked for you for months, sure I'd hear news that you'd been found dead in a ditch somewhere, or that Thrush had put a bullet through your back when I wasn't around to watch for it. I couldn't believe you'd really leave and never come back."

Napoleon swallowed against the lump in his throat. He'd never been so miserable in his life that first year after his partner had left. Nothing took the ache away he had in his heart and his body for Illya. It had felt like a disease, something that wouldn't kill him, no matter how much he might wish it, but that he would never recover from to be whole again.

"Napoleon."

Napoleon put up a hand to keep Illya where he was. "And then, here you were. Famous, rich, and locked behind better security than I could breach. I was sure you'd sent out word to keep me away." He flashed Illya a tight smile. "Twelve times." He shook his head, amazed and ashamed he'd so willingly put himself through that humiliation so many times. "Twelve goddamn times I tried to see you."

He advanced on Illya, almost yelling. "Twelve times. And you never came to see me. Never called, never. Never even bothered to send back anything I sent."

Illya's eyes were huge and shadowed with pain. "I didn't know. So many people try to see me, my staff…" He waved off the rest of the sentence. "I didn't know." 

Napoleon spit the question out. "And you didn't want to see me?" He gestured around the office. "You obviously knew where I was. What stopped you?"

"I didn't…I didn't think I had the right. I didn't think you'd want to see me."

Napoleon scowled. "It never crossed your mind that having you show up here to do a little groveling might have been therapeutic for me?"

Illya felt the distance between them grow a little wider, and it hurt like dull throbs of stomach cramps. "Do you want me to grovel? I will. I'll do anything. Tell me to do anything. Just tell me it's not too late. Tell me you'll take me back." 

For the briefest of moments, Napoleon thought about saying no. Thought about rebuffing Illya, at least this once. Send him on his way; let him think that there was no chance. Then the next time, he'd say yes. The next time he'd hold Illya close and forgive him.

Then a flash of panic ran through him. Suppose this was the only chance he got. Suppose Illya left and never came back. Napoleon couldn't risk it. Nor did he think he could survive if he had to watch Illya walk out another door. They would just have to manage to stitch up their wounds together. 

Suddenly he couldn't stand the distance between them. Moving quickly he soon stood before his old friend and cupped Illya's face in his hands. "Oh, Illya. I can't take you back. I never let you go." With that he pulled Illya into his arms and held him tightly.

He could feel Illya trembling, and knew he wasn't in much better shape. A part of him couldn't believe he was actually holding Illya after all this time. That Illya had come to him, wanted to be together. It had been a fantasy of his for so long he wasn't absolutely positive this wasn't yet another derivation of his dreams.

Illya's arms held him just as tightly. He buried his face in Napoleon's shoulder, his hair tickling Napoleon's nose. "I was so stupid. I’m sorry. Leaving you was the stupidest thing I ever did."

Napoleon shook his head. "No, staying away was the stupidest thing you ever did." He pulled back until he could see Illya. "And if you ever do anything like that again, I swear I'll shoot you."

Illya pulled him back into the tight embrace. "Abnimi menya." 

"My Russian's a little rusty. What did you say?"

"Just hold me. Just hold me."

That suited Napoleon fine. He dragged Illya across the office to the couch and sat down, arranging Illya until he was essentially sitting on his lap. He breathed in the smell of his ex-lover. "I can't believe you're here." He had a sudden thought. "Why are you here?" 

"Your fiancée."

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "Vivian called you again? She is a meddlesome thing."

"She told me I was odious." The words were muffled by Napoleon's shoulder. Illya was still tucked in tight.

Napoleon let out a soft laugh. "Vivian is a girl who says what's on her mind."

Illya pulled away. "You…you're not in love with her?"

Napoleon could hear the apprehension in Illya's voice and again felt that dual sensation of satisfaction running a parallel course with his need to comfort his old friend. He chose to comfort. He cupped Illya's face with his hand. "How could I be? I never stopped loving you."

Illya closed his eyes and when he opened them again, the love filling them rocked Napoleon to his core. He had never thought to see that look again. That look that made him feel loved like nothing had before or since. Illya gently kissed his lips. "I don't deserve for you to take me back."

Napoleon let out a groan. "Please, don't spoil this reunion with your Slavic guilt. I don't want to spend the next few hours trying to cheer you up." He grinned at Illya. "Besides, I'll do my best to come up with all sorts of ways you can make it up to me."

Illya kissed him again. "Anything. I'll do anything."

Napoleon let a dramatic few seconds go by. "Will you make Vivian her wedding dress?"

Illya froze. He whispered, "What?"

The desperate look in Illya's eyes turned a few words that were intended to pull Illya's leg, into a cruel joke. Napoleon hastened to explain. "For her and Mark. I'm sure she's in love with him."

Illya let out a long breath and his head sagged onto Napoleon's shoulder. "I thought…" He shook his head.

"You thought this was an elaborate practical joke I concocted with Vivian's help to get back at you?" Napoleon held him tightly. "I'm sorry, Illya." Then he frowned. "Is that what you think of me?"

Illya sat up. "No, but it's what I think I deserve."

Napoleon pulled him back down. "Hey, where do you think you're going?" He ran his fingers through the blond hair, his fingers relishing the opportunity to get reacquainted with the silken strands. "I agree it was stupid that you left, and I was furious that you thought you had the right to make the decision for the two of us, but I do know that you thought you were doing the right thing." He tugged sharply on Illya's hair. "Stupid Russian."

Words were again muttered into his neck. "Very stupid."

"So, will you make her a dress?"

"I'll make her anything she wants. I'll create a whole line for her."

Napoleon grinned. "Oh, my God. She'll think she's died and gone to heaven." He kept stroking Illya's hair, his other hand making lazy circles on the Russian's back. Slowly, very slowly, his body was beginning to believe that he had Illya back in his arms. There was a slow burn making its way down his body, centering in his groin.

He could feel it in Illya's caresses as well. Napoleon turned his head and began to press kisses on Illya's cheek, his jaw, and, as Illya lifted his head, Napoleon, with a shaky sigh, kissed the lips he had been dreaming about for four long and lonely years.

The kiss escalated into passion so fast Napoleon couldn't keep up. His body remembered exactly how Illya used to feel under him, the strength of him, the way he'd thrust against Napoleon's body, making those groans that played down his spine like magic fingers, right to his groin until he was rock hard. 

In seconds he had Illya flat on the couch, covering his body with his own, reliving the years when they'd been intimate, when every time they came together the sex was better than the time before. It had never become ordinary; never become something that didn't leave him weak and breathless by the end of it.

Illya was running his hands up and down his back, pulling him closer, letting out those groans that used to drive him wild, and, Napoleon thought breathlessly, still did. He let out a groan of his own as he met Illya's tongue with his, as they breathed into each other's mouth, unwilling to separate for a moment, feeling a wondrous desperation to re-experience all they had both thought lost to them.

Napoleon arched his neck, so Illya could have better access to it, and he nibbled and nuzzled his way up one side of his face and back down the other. When they had first become lovers, Napoleon had been pleasurably surprised at how much Illya loved kissing and tasting and exploring. He hadn't expected it, but he loved it, and Illya had ended up being his perfect match in bed.

Illya whispered in his ear, "Napoleon, I want you to make love to me, I want to feel you inside of me. I want to be able to feel you when I leave here, as a reminder."

Napoleon frowned, and put his hands on Illya's shoulders to keep him still as he got a good look at him. "You don't need a reminder. You're not leaving."

Illya gave him a confused look. "I'm not?"

"No, you're never leaving."

Illya gave him a dry grin. "We can't stay here in this office the rest of our lives." The grin turned mischievous. "This couch isn't quite wide enough for all of our activities."

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "I don't mean that. Of course we have to leave this office sometime." His brow furrowed. "I hope Janelle has the sense to cancel all my afternoon appointments." Napoleon shook his head. "No, what I mean is that when I feel as if it's safe to let you go, when I'm convinced that this isn't one of those dreams that I love when they're happening, but hate when they're over…"

Napoleon interrupted his speech and shook his head again, trying to obliterate the pain. He lay his head down on Illya's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat under his ear, and spoke softly, sharing the painful memories, "I hated waking up. The moment when the dream fades away, and I remember that you aren't there in my bed, that the warmth of having just made love to you is a lie, that there's a hole in my life that the Empire State Building couldn't fill."

Illya ran his hand through Napoleon's hair. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am." Carefully, not wanting either of them to end up on the floor, he rolled them until Napoleon was beneath him. "Will it help if I tell you I was just as miserable? Just as empty?"

"Yes," Napoleon answered honestly.

The corner of Illya's lips curled up. "It was as if I lost a limb. As if I'd lost a leg. And then I went out and got an artificial leg, and I learned how to walk again, and how to go back in the world, and shop, and dress myself, and look as if I was whole, but it was a lie. And when I was home alone, and undressed, and took off that artificial leg, there'd I be. Still bleeding. No matter what I did." This time he lay his head down on Napoleon's chest.

Napoleon let out a sigh, remembering how it felt to read about the company the great Vanya was keeping. "It seems like you tried awfully hard to forget." He couldn't keep the jealousy out of his voice.

Illya lifted his head, his eyes gently accusing. "Me? You asked someone to marry you. You were going to get married, Napoleon."

Napoleon let out a soft laugh. "What a fool I was."

"Are you sure you do not love her?"

Napoleon gazed up at the anxious blue eyes. "Oh, Illya. I swear to you I don't. She made me laugh. The emptiness didn't seem quite so frightening when she was around. But, it was already falling apart. As soon as I put that ring on her finger all I could think about was you. I'd wake up every night, after dreaming about you, and go downstairs and drink, and listen to one of your old records."

Illya leaned down and kissed him, a long, languid gentle kiss that had nothing to prove, but that healed so much. "I love you. I never stopped loving you, not for one minute."

Napoleon wrapped his arms tightly around his old partner. "You don't know how much I needed to hear that. I love you, too." He pulled back from the hug, and cupped Illya's face with his hands. "And that's why you're not leaving."

"I thought we'd determined that we would have to leave at some point."

Napoleon smiled at that. "Yes, but once we leave here, we're either going to your place so you can pack your stuff, or we're going to my place so I can pack my stuff, because I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Napoleon watched a guarded look come over Illya's face. "Napoleon…"

"No, I mean it. I'm not going to do it again. I hated having to hide what I felt for you before and I refuse to do it again. We live together, we go to events together, I'm yours and you're mine. Nothing to be ashamed of, not ever."

Illya gazed down at him with a worried expression. "What about your business, Napoleon? The world isn't that enlightened yet."

"I don't care. I don't need the money." He grinned at Illya. "And even if I was poor as a churchmouse, you've got plenty for both of us, don't you?"

"Yes, but…"

"No, no buts. It doesn't matter." He snorted out a laugh. "And I would be willing to wager a bet that all my biggest clients have wives or mistresses who have either come to depend on being clothed by a certain famous dress designer, or would like the opportunity."

Illya frowned at him. "Are you asking me to bribe your customers with Vanya originals?"

Napoleon gave him a lopsided smile. "If it comes to that." He gave Illya a cautious look. "I need you to agree to this. Not the bribery part, but the being together part. I can't live that way again, sneaking around, pretending I'm dating women, not being able to be with you whenever I want." Napoleon held his breath, hoping to God that Illya wanted the same thing he did.

Illya gave him a long considering look. And then a slow smile started to form on his face until he was blinding Napoleon with one of his rare and brilliant smiles. "I can see I will need to hire new staff to handle all the extra work."

Napoleon let out a relieved laugh. Then he grimaced. "Of course, Vivian will kill me for doing this. Constance will have a field day with the gossip."

"Constance?"

"Vivian's arch rival. Imagine all of Thrush embodied in one woman. That's how Vivian views Constance. And losing a man to a homosexual relationship will be the perfect opportunity for Constance to drag Vivian through the mud."

Illya scoffed. "I will take care of this Constance."

Napoleon flashed him a nervous look. "No killing or maiming."

Illya got a focused look in his eyes. "Is this by any chance Constance Emily Waldorf?"

Napoleon thought for a second. "Yes, that's her. Have you met her?"

Illya let out a disgusted noise. "She tried to sue me when I refused to make her an original."

Napoleon let out a mock gasp. "The horror."

Illya rolled his eyes. "If I recall correctly, your Miss Higginsbottom tried the same thing."

"She's not my anything, anymore." Napoleon gave Illya a kiss, thanking every god in the heavens for that fact. "I don't know how I could have been so foolish. I don't believe that she loved me in the slightest, either. If she's in love with anyone, it's with Mark. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm sure he's in love with her, too. Some friend I am." He shook his head in disgust at his obtuseness.

Illya put his fingers over Napoleon's mouth. "That's the man I love that you happen to be maligning."

Napoleon let out a happy sigh and pulled Illya down into his arms. "I'm glad you agreed to not keep this private, because I'll bet you money that Janelle's been listening at the keyhole, and she's worse than a newspaper."

Illya sat up in alarm. "She has been listening to us?" He stood up and moved to the door, yanking it open. Napoleon got up as well and moved to stand behind him to watch Illya take in Janelle's position at her desk, her face the very picture of innocence.

Napoleon let out a soft laugh as her eyes swept the two men from the bottom of their feet to the top of their heads. Napoleon reached around Illya and shut the door.

Illya turned to him. "I don't think she was listening." He sounded relieved.

Napoleon laughed again. "It doesn't matter." He dragged Illya over to the bar, where there was a large mirror. "Look."

Illya looked. Napoleon watched as Illya's eyes made their way over the two of them. Their faces were flushed, lips swollen with kissing, shirt buttons undone, suit jackets rumpled, and their hair mussed. 

Napoleon wrapped his arms around Illya from behind. "I'm thinking you might as well have taken out a newspaper ad."

Illya let out a heartfelt groan and dropped his head back to Napoleon's shoulder. 

Napoleon felt a flare of nervousness. "Are you having second thoughts, Illya?"

Illya turned in his arms and held him tightly. "Nyet. Never. I just hope you don't end up regretting this."

Napoleon returned the hug. "I'd rather be a pariah at your side, than a successful businessman without you."

Illya glanced up at him, his eyes sparkling, and overflowing with love. "Then, do you suppose we could take this to one of our homes and finish what we started earlier on the couch?"

Napoleon reached out and straightened the knot of Illya's tie. "I thought you'd never ask."

Five minutes later, they swept out of Napoleon's office and walked by Janelle's desk. "I'm leaving for the day, Janelle. If anyone calls, I'm not available." He turned to her, not sure what to expect, feeling that it all started here. Could she accept it, or would he find her resignation on his desk in the morning? He found himself grinning as she winked at him. With an absurdly light heart, he joined his lover at the elevator.

* * *

Hours later, bodies and hearts sated, both men having had the opportunity to become intimately reacquainted with the other's body a few times over, they lay cuddled in bed. Napoleon let out a sigh of immense satisfaction. "I still can't believe you're here with me. That you're back. That you still love me."

Illya gave him a wry grin. "In what way have I not proved it to you?"

Napoleon snorted out a laugh. "Where should we live?"

"My place."

Napoleon glanced at Illya in surprise. He hadn't expected Illya to care. He had never cared where he lived. "Why?" He glanced around his bedroom, wondering how he would feel to leave it. Napoleon supposed he must not care that much as he had been spending most of his time at Vivian's home.

"You will love it."

"I will?" Napoleon turned his body so he could see Illya's face better. "Why?"

Illya looked away for a minute and then he turned back, smiling softly, tracing Napoleon's face with a finger. "Because I was thinking of you when I bought it. Because every place I looked at, I couldn't help thinking how it would or would not suit you, and where you could hang the picture you bought in Marseilles, or place the hutch from your Aunt Amy." He buried his head on Napoleon's shoulder. "I know, I am a lovesick fool."

Napoleon knew right then that he could walk away from this penthouse and never look back. "But you're my lovesick fool." He made Illya raise his head and gently nibbled the full lower lip. "And if you say I'll love it, then that's where we'll live." He nuzzled Illya's neck. "Truthfully, Illya, I'd live in a cardboard box as long as I could be with you."

Illya lifted his head and grinned. "It's a bit nicer than a cardboard box." He glanced around the penthouse bedroom. "I think you'll be able to suffer through it." 

Napoleon's phone rang. Napoleon reached across Illya to answer it. "Yes?"

"Napoleon? It's Mark."

Napoleon lay back down, pulling Illya in tight, holding the phone so they could both listen. "Mark, have you seen Vivian?"

"Yes, in fact, that's why I'm calling. She seems to think you're in a bit of a bad way. Are you all right?"

Napoleon softly kissed Illya's forehead. "I'm perfect. Tell her I'm perfect."

There was a pause. "Are you…is Illya there with you?"

Ah, Napoleon thought, Vivian's been talking. Well, time to see what his upper-class British mate thought of all this. "Yes, he is."

There was another pause, and Napoleon prepared himself. But, Mark's remarks took him by surprise. "Thank God. Neither of you blokes has been right since you had your falling out. It's about time you made up."

Napoleon's eyebrows rose, not sure if Mark had any idea of what comprised his and Illya's making up. He gave Illya a look, and saw the question in his eyes as well. "Mark…" Napoleon wasn't sure how to say it. Then he decided not to. On the off-chance Mark didn't take it well, he didn't want to spoil his first evening with Illya. He moved on to his next order of business. "You have my blessing."

"I beg your pardon?"

Napoleon grinned at the startlement in Mark's voice. "I said you have my blessing to woo and win the lovely Vivian."

The pauses were becoming routine at this point. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Not in the least. I'm only sorry I didn't see it before. I would never have even pursued her if I'd known how you felt."

Mark let out a small groan. "Blimey, was I that transparent?"

Napoleon laughed. "Not in the least. Vivian got me thinking when we last spoke. Just take good care of her. I'm in her debt, more than I can say."

This time the pause was longer, as if Mark was gathering strength. "So…you and Illya, you're happy?"

Illya chose that moment to chime in. "Yes. Now go bother Vivian, and leave us alone."

Napoleon let out a laugh, delighted that Illya was taking a public stand.

He heard Mark let out a pleased sigh. "I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time, mate. Give that grumpy Russian of yours a hug, and I'll see you later."

Illya piped up again. "Tell Vivian I owe her a dress."

Vivian was obviously listening in as she let out a scream of delight. Napoleon moved the phone away from their ears as far as his arm would go. When it sounded as if it was safe he pulled it back in. "Vivian?"

"Yes, darling."

"You're at the top of my Christmas list."

Vivian let out a low laugh. "My, my. A Vanya original, and expensive Christmas presents, how lucky am I?"

This time Napoleon paused. "I'm moving in with him. People will talk."

Vivian sighed. "Constance will make my life a living hell."

"Illya has offered to kill her for you."

"What a lovely thought."

Napoleon winked at Illya. "He also mentioned something about creating a whole Vanya line for you to help drown your sorrows."

This time Napoleon had the phone safely away as she let out another cry. "Oh, she'll be green with envy. What would he call it?"

Illya frowned. "The 'would you get off the phone and leave us alone' line."

Vivian let out an unladylike snort. "Napoleon, I'm afraid that your renewed presence in his life has done nothing for his manners."

Illya let out a grumpy noise. "I'll call it whatever you want."

Vivian let out a happy sigh. "How about…" There was a dramatic pause, "The Vivian Line. Oh, I can't wait to see her face." There was a sound of fabric rustling, and Napoleon heard the brief smacking of lips. He imagined Vivian settling herself against Mark and he smiled. It turned into a laugh when she spoke again, "With Mark on my arm, and Vanya as my couturier, and Napoleon as my personal Santa Claus, how can I go wrong?" She sighed again. "Just promise me, Illya, oh, I may call you Illya, mayn't I?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Just promise me you'll never make Constance a dress."

"I promise. Now please go away."

Vivian laughed. "Oh, we'll all have such fun together."

Napoleon saw a glint of annoyance in Illya's eyes. He grinned, deciding he better end this call. "Good night, you two."

The good night was echoed back to him, and he reached across Illya again and hung up.

Illya snagged him, and held him in place, Napoleon's body on top of his. Napoleon shifted a little until he was more comfortable. "I missed this so much."

Illya pulled him down into a kiss. "If I wake up in the morning and find that I am back in my own home, and that this never happened…" He shook his head as if the mere idea of it was too horrific to entertain.

Napoleon held him tightly. "I'll be right here. I promise." He pulled away and gazed down at Illya. "And for the first time, I can say that and not have to worry whether our next mission will see one or the both of us dead."

Illya frowned. "No, just whether my ear drums will survive the next phone call."

Napoleon gave him a mock glare. "Now, now. If it wasn't for Vivian, you wouldn't be here right now."

"She expects me to be rude, Napoleon. I'd hate to disappoint her."

Napoleon thought about that and let out a laugh. Illya was right. Vivian had thoroughly enjoyed jousting with Vanya and Napoleon suspected that Vanya had enjoyed it as well. He saw many interesting altercations ahead as Illya worked with her to create the new line. "Will you really call it 'The Vivian Line'?"

Illya shrugged. "It is better than The Higginsbottom Line. Really, Napoleon, how could you even think of marrying someone with a last name like that?"

"She had more than enough pleasing attributes to make up for it."

Illya frowned up at him. "Are you sure you haven't become too accustomed to a woman's body? I know…"

Napoleon shut him up with a kiss, and pressed down on Illya. When he surfaced for air, he softly scolded his lover, "This is the body I grew accustomed to, and never lost the longing for. That's all you need to know." Napoleon was rewarded with another one of Illya's dazzling smiles. Two in one day, almost a record. 

Illya lifted his hips up, and wiggled against Napoleon, letting his hands slide down the strong back until he was cupping Napoleon's butt in his hands. "If you have no objection, I would like to re-accustom myself to you a little more."

Napoleon didn't even bother to answer. He just lowered his head, and kissed his future.

The End


End file.
